Home
by Rsuth
Summary: After the final battle in Deathly Hallows, the strains and efforts of the past year on the run finally catch up to Hermione.


Home

_By: Rsuth_

_DISCLAIMER: As the author of this fan fiction story I do not, in any way, profit from the story or claim any rights to the 'Harry Potter' universe. All creative rights to the 'Harry Potter' universe belong to J.K. Rowling. Thank you for letting me play in this amazing world._

_Summary: After the final battle in Deathly Hallows, the strains and efforts of the past year on the run finally catch up to Hermione. _

_oooooooooooooo_

Hermione didn't know what to do with herself. The castle was full of life around her; groups of dirty and exhausted students and teachers carrying stretchers with injured bodies from the Great Hall under the direction of a haggard but ever-strong McGonagall; groups of quiet families and students clustered around stretchers on the far side of the Hall, their occupants unmoving and cold, the live patients the first priority; tired House Elves rushing in plates of cold sandwiches and drink goblets to the hungry crowd.

The blinding morning sun was beginning to come up, beaming through a haze of dust and leftover smoke, spilling over wrecked walls and windows, the damage of the battle showing up in sharp relief. The sun was red and unforgiving, reminding her of the horrors she had seen that night. She had witnessed death eaters chasing down students that were barely adults; people she knew and didn't know had been killed in front of her. Harry had died and come back to life. He had killed Voldemort.

She knew she should move, that she should go see if Madam Pomfrey needed help in the infirmary, or if McGonagall needed anything, if _someone_ needed anything. She could see the Weasley's grouped on the far side of the Hall, guarding and mourning over Fred's body, but she couldn't seem to make herself move to join them. The cold stone wall she was leaning against was soothing, supportive, out of the way of everybody. She was so tired and weary, and although she knew she should be elated about their win, that feeling wouldn't seep through her skin, or wrap itself around her aching bones.

Watching the room around her was making her tired and dizzy, her eyes not seeming able to keep up with the movement. She closed them, continuing to stand leaning on the cool wall. The noise around her began to fade into the background as she slumped into the wall but she couldn't go to sleep, not yet, it wasn't safe. She couldn't be caught off guard. She needed to keep watch.

A hand gripped her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open as her wand came up to disarm. Through her dizzy vision she saw it was just Harry. He gently took the hand that had thrust the wand in his chest and pushed it back down to her side. He spoke to her but she couldn't understand him, her rough heartbeat pounding hard and loud in her head, the noise in the room pressing down hard on her ears. He looked at her face, concerned, then simply held out his hand. She stared at it, not understanding what he wanted, until he reached out and took her cold hand into his warm one. He tugged her hand and began to move away. Her feet obediently moved, slow and dragging as if they were made of lead. Harry let go of her hand and gripped her around the waist and arm when she almost fell over a wayward chunk of brick. In the back of her mind she knew that she should be helping him, that he had died only short hours ago and was probably exhausted. But when she turned her head toward him, and tried to form the words in her tired brain to tell him, he just tightened his gripped on her and kissed her on the temple. "Just a bit further, Hermione..." she heard him say.

They slowly walked through the broken corridors stepping around fallen portraits and statues, broken glass, crumbled brick. The route seemed familiar to her but she couldn't remember why. She knew she should be horrified by the state of the school, her home for years, but she felt distant from what she was seeing, like she was in a dream.

Suddenly they stopped and Harry was helping her step through a high doorway, its door nearly ripped off its hinges. They were in a room once decorated with red and gold, with chunks of ceiling and bricks squashing ripped plush couches, the carpet darkened with burn marks and most likely blood. A fine film of dust covered everything, almost as though it hadn't been lived in for months. Sun was streaming through holes blasted in the outer wall, the wind whistling gently from the height of the tower. The common room looked as though it had been targeted specifically, the ruin resembling that of the main battlefields. Hermione couldn't move any further.

It was real. This was all real, it had really happened. It wasn't a bad dream. Hermione felt her knees buckle suddenly but didn't fight it, just let her weary body fall painfully to her knees. Harry was suddenly kneeling in front of her with his hands on her face, looking her over. Again, she could see his mouth moving but couldn't make her ears listen. Harry stood up and rushed over to the mangled couches, straining to pull the large chunks of rock off, tossing them to the side. He then pulled the cushions off the couches, shaking them roughly, then placed them on the floor beside each other.

Before she could understand what had happened, Harry was scooping her up into his arms, and resting her on something soft. The cushions. She let her aching body sink into them gratefully, and felt something warm and gritty draped over her. Her eyes shut heavily, refusing to be left open any longer, and she logically knew she should stay awake, keep watch, but was so tired she almost didn't care what happened to her.

As she drifted down into the swirling warm darkness she felt something cold and stinging touch her and painfully twitched awake. A warm hand was on her shoulder, pressing firmly to keep her laying down. She looked down to see Harry running a wet cloth over her exposed side, rivulets of dirt and red blood running from a deep gash onto dusty the cushions below. The site made her feel nauseas and raw. A sudden wave of dizziness forced her eyes shut again, and she welcomed the warm, oblivious darkness.

oooooooooooooooooooo

She was dreaming that she was coughing. Coughing so hard she was choking. Her throat was so dry that she couldn't swallow anything, like she had breathed a mouth full of smoke. There must be a fire, where are Harry and Ron? She needed to find them, get them out of here so Harry could finish their quest. Another round of coughing hit her and she was gasping to find her breath.

Something was lifting her head and she suddenly realized that she must be dreaming, that her coughing had woken her up, that there was no fire. A cool cup touched her lips and she eagerly took a drink, wetting her parched throat, trying to stop herself from choking it back up. Cool water ran down her face from where it missed her lips but she didn't care. She took a few deep breaths to catch her breath and opened her eyes to see Harry's worried face floating above her in the darkness, the room spinning around him. She closed her eyes again.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

She was cold. Any icy draft was touching her skin, moving under her clothing. She shivered and tried to move her heavy body away from the cold, but something held her down. Her eyes were so heavy that she could only open them a slit; a blinding light flashed painfully and she squeezed them shut, hot tears making tracks down her cheeks. She tried to open them a few more times, the light less painful each time, until she could open them.

Faces swarmed above her and she gasped, reaching blindly for her wand around her. Something grabbed her wrist and she tried weakly to fight them off, needing to get up and get away. More hands were suddenly on her, holding down her legs, her arms. Touching her face. She distantly heard her name being called and stopped struggling to see why. She focused her uncooperative eyes on the faces above her. Eventually the familiar forms of Molly Weasley and Madam Pomfrey came into focus, the latter holding up a lit wand above her. They were talking to her, but she shivered again and closed her eyes, wanting to escape back into sleep.

Oooooooooooooooooooooo

She was bobbing up and down, dreaming that she was in a boat, trying to find Ron and Harry in the ocean. They had been separated by a storm, thrashed by giant waves and strong winds until she had lost sight of them. She was calling for them, desperate, knowing that she wouldn't be able to live without them.

The ocean began to fade around her, but she could still feel the rolling waves carrying her body. But it didn't smell like the ocean anymore, the pungent salt turning into a heady scent, sweet and spicy, earthy. She focused on the smell, knowing that it was familiar to her, special to her. It belonged to Ron.

She pried her eyes open again, wanting to make sure that it was him. To see him. She saw she was leaning again a hard chest, her cheek resting against a soft brown shirt. The world was still rolling around her, but his strong arms pressing under her back and legs comforted her. She moved slightly to look up at his chin and cheek, rough dark stubble covering the soft skin. He looked down at her, his eyes surprised to see her watching him. He gave her a soft smile, and spoke. "Going home…sleep…" rumbled into her ear, and she let herself relax back into him, closing her eyes.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

She was dreaming she was back in the wintery Forest of Dean, waiting endlessly for Harry to wake up after their trip to Godric's Hollow. She kept pulling the blanket tighter around herself but snow kept touching her skin, falling down the back of her neck, chilling her face. The more she brushed it away, the thicker it piled up on her. She tried to get up and go back to the tent but she couldn't move, she was frozen to the ground. She needed to get back to Harry, he might need her.

She struggled harder against the snow, letting out a loud cry of frustration as her efforts got her nowhere. Her wand was just a few feet away, but her arms were stuck to the side of her body. "HARRY!" she screamed towards the tent. Maybe he was awake, feeling better. If he could at least just pass her the wand… "HARRY!" She needed him, needed him to help her this time.

A blast of air rushed by her ear and she stopped struggling for a moment to see what had caused it. A white bird was swooping in the crisp air around the trees, its large wings stretched so far it was almost hitting the ancient tree trunks. It landed on a large limb not far from her, cocking its head to look at her. "Hedwig…" she breathed, amazed to see the beautiful loyal owl again.

Hedwig turned her head impossibly farther, her yellow eyes boring into Hermione's, and opened her beak. "Hermione…" the owl said, seemingly waiting for a response. "Hermione!" it repeated.

"Help me!" she cried back to the owl. "Help me!"

The owl just continued to stare at her as the snow crept up her shoulders, ignoring her desperation. As the snow touched her chin Hedwig suddenly opened her beak again. "Hermione…wake up…WAKE UP!" the owl yelled, her voice sounding deep and familiar.

The snow was abruptly gone, replaced with a pale darkness. She squinted her eyes, needing to be able to see to figure out where she was. She needed to get back to Harry. A dark figure moved in front of her, showing up only as a dark object. Something cold and wet slithered across her forehead. She tried to raise her hand to push it away but found her arm weighed down. She tried to struggle against it, her tiring effort bursting past her lips as a moan.

"Hermione…" came a voice from above her. The black figure. "Hermione…" it whispered again. She knew the voice, it was almost as familiar as her own.

"Harry?" she tried.

"It's me…it's me…" The voice returned to her calmly. The weight left her arms.

She needed to know what was going on, how she had got back to the tent. If he was okay. If he had seen Hedwig. If he knew his owl had come back to him.

"Hedwig…" She managed to tell him before her eyes became heavy again. She could close them without worry, knowing Harry was alright. She drifted off again.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

A hot light was pulsing against her eyelids, making it hard to stay asleep. She wanted to turn away, ignore the light, but she knew it was time to wake up.

As she let herself drift awake her body screamed at her, feeling like one big bruise. Her mouth was dry, her eyes felt heavy and stuck shut. She lay still for a moment before she peeled her eyes open. She was surrounded in orange, laying under a ceiling covered by moving pictures. Tucked under an orange blanket. It was the burrow, Ron's room. How did she get here? She was just in the tent. Was she dreaming? Because if she was she didn't want to wake up.

Hermione heard a small sigh nearby and whipped her head sideways. She was met with a faceful or orange hair. With some effort she lifted her hand, gently brushed the long hair aside. _Ron_, lying beside her, sharing her pillow, deep in sleep. She smiled at the sight, drinking in the sight of his face unguarded in sleep, no worries, no stress. She ran her fingers gently down his face, feeling tears come to her eyes for an unknown reason.

Hermione hooked her arm under her body and carefully pushed herself up, wincing at the soreness in her body. When she tilted her head to the other side she was surprised to see Harry laying there, his glasses hanging crooked off of his nose, mouth open with gentle snores. She gently pried his glasses off his face, closed them, and placed them on the bed between them.

The sunlight flashed onto her again and Hermione turned to look out the crooked window, watching the golden sun wash over the spring grass, illuminate the wooden fences and sheds in the backyard. She realized that this was real, that she was back at the Burrow. They had fought in the battle, Harry had defeated Voldemort. It was over. She closed her eyes as she sat between her boys and let the warm sun wash over her face, not remembering the last time she had felt peace, had been able to see beauty around her. The last year had been full of blacks and greys, cold and damp.

"Hermione?" she heard a croaky voice whisper. She let the sun bathe over her for a few more moments before she turned her head back. Ron was propped up on his elbow giving her a confused look. She smiled back at him and he quickly pulled himself up to sit, wrapping his arms around her to pull her into his lap, burying his face in her hair. He rocked her in his arms and she sunk against him, breathing in his scent, enjoying the closeness that she had craved for years. "How did we get to the Burrow?" she asked him after some time, genuinely curious as to what had happened after the battle. Ron gave a loud laugh and held her tighter.

"Hermione…you've been asleep for four days…we've been so worried…Madam Pomfrey said it was just exhaustion, and to give you time…but we've been waiting so long…" Harry's tired voice said from behind her. She felt his arms wrap around her, his forehead rest on her shoulder. "I'm sorry…we're sorry, Hermione, we've been relying on you too much this past year…let us help you for a while, let us take care of you…" his muffled voice spoke from behind her ear.

She ignored his guilty ramble. "The sun…Harry, Ron…can you remember the last time you saw such a beautiful sunrise? We're home, it's over…" she told them slowly, caught up in the happiness of the moment. Tears came to her eyes again, the reality of what she had just said really hitting home. "It's over…It's over!" She couldn't help the genuine laughter that burst past her lips as she quickly wiped her eyes. Ron and Harry looked at her with shocked faces for a moment before smiling at her, Ron joining in with her laughter as he held her tight to him again, Harry just smiling and shaking his head.

She heard movement from the far side of the room and pulled herself away from Ron to turn her head. The Weasley family was standing at the doorway, likely roused from her laughter. Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Fleur, Bill, Charlie, George, and Percy were standing and smiling back at her, Ginny with a wide grin on her face. Hermione felt momentarily embarrassed, remembering she was sitting in Ron's lap, but quickly realized she didn't care. She smiled back at the family, her _second_ family, and knew that although it wasn't completely over, that the wizarding world needed to be rebuilt, that there were funerals to attend, her parents to find, that they would all be fine, in time.

Molly Weasley spoke first. "Welcome home, Hermione"

She was.

_A/N: This short story has been on my mind for a while, and suddenly I had the urge to write it. I know her dreams are disjointed, but that's often how our own dreams are: confusing, strange, wrapped with our worries. I hope you all enjoyed that somewhat different after-the-battle story. Leave me a review and let me know what you thought about it._

_For those fans of my other story 'Tangled', don't worry, I am in the process of writing another chapter. I haven't ditched it! _


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